


Whiteout

by thekingofcarrotflowers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Dorian, Being Lost, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Complete, Dorian watching out for his friends, Established Relationship, Friendship, Frostbite, Hypothermia, M/M, Near Death Experiences, POV Alternating, Reunions, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofcarrotflowers/pseuds/thekingofcarrotflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian's lost in a blizzard with the Herald's party, trying his best to keep Sera safe, while Bull is left to wait for his return at Skyhold.</p><p>Now featuring artwork by the lovely merm-aight <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Probably going to be told in alternating POVs until they're reunited.  
> I have the first few chapters written, Maker knows how long this will be... I plan on shortish, like, 6 chapters/8k?

artwork by [merm-aight](http://merm-aight.tumblr.com) who is a lovely, lovely person <3

Skyhold was oddly quiet ever since the storm blew in. It was relentless, sharp wind blowing snow into the courtyards and stairways. After everything had been boarded up, merchants dragging carts into empty halls and the stables doors drawn tightly shut, most of Skyhold’s citizens were held up indoors. Bull had helped where he could, the work helping to keep his mind off of the blizzard and the fact that Dorian was somewhere out there in it. Ever since the dark clouds rolled in, bringing frigid winds and heavy snowfall, fear had begun to worm its way into the Bull’s chest,  burrowing deep. It made his stomach uneasy and his heart constrict, knowing that getting lost in the mountains during this kind of storm could be a death sentence for anyone. Dorian wasn’t accustomed to the snow and the cold, nights that Bull found pleasant often leaving Dorian shivering and lighting a roaring fire in the hearth. The cold alone could easily kill, but there was the cliffs and steep slopes that could easily be obscured in the white-out conditions. It was just as easy to end up miles and miles off-track, without any sort of supplies, and be left shivering and starving in some abandoned cave. The grim thoughts made Bull shiver more than the cold ever did.

  
After the work to secure Skyhold was finished, there was little to do but worry and wait. Bull had paced his room frantically for some time, trying to find a solution to this mess. Krem had found him, convinced him to to head down to the bar for a few drinks to warm himself with. It took a lot of effort on Krem’s part, as his second-in-command insisted that Bull shouldn’t be alone, knowing he beating himself over this while everything was out of his hands. Being passive seemed wrong, a guilt settling deep in his gut as he waited, tried to focus his mind on anything but Dorian and weather for more than few moments. Reluctantly, Bull followed him down to the tavern, telling himself that having a drink might help pass time, might get him one moment closer to Dorian returning safely. It hadn’t lasted long, his focus moving from the nervous murmur of the tavern to the white whirlwind outside again and again, to the Inquisitor’s party being swallowed up in it, to losing Dorian—

  
Now, the wind was biting at his skin as he crossed from the tavern to the main hall, the snow reaching just past his knees. The amount of snow that made its way into the courtyard was growing difficult for even Bull to trudge through, the chill sinking into his bones despite the shots of fire whiskey he quickly downed in the tavern. He let out a shaky breath imagining his ‘Vint trekking through the stuff, probably shivering and going blue. Inside the hall, Cullen was nervously speaking with Josephine and Lelianna when he entered. They glanced at him nervously, and his heart constricted again, fearing bad news. Stalling for a moment as he braced himself, he shook the snow from his boots and horns, adding to the pools of slush on the floor, before heading over.

  
“No word yet,” Cullen said with a glum shake of his head.

  
Bull grunted his disapproval. Last they knew, the party had been at the base of the mountain this morning. They had most likely reached the halfway point when the sudden storm hit. After that, everything became unclear. Contact was severed, Lelianna’s ravens were blown off-course, a few ragged birds returning to their roost above the library (where Bull believed Dorian should be nestled in right now, with a hot cup of cocoa, not lost in the damned snow). Again, an image of Dorian clutching a cloak around himself as he shook flashed through Bull’s mind. Of Dorian’s foot slipping on the edge of a ravine, and the endless fall down…

  
 The mage complained enough when they were passing through the mountain on the way to somewhere warmer, when they were on well-cleared paths and the chill in the air was barely noteworthy. It didn’t help that it wasn’t just Dorian he was worried about, but Sera and the Herald were out there, too. Losing the Herald would put the Inquisitor back on unsteady ground, not to mention leave Bull short another friend, and he had a fierce protectiveness for Sera, who he had grown terribly fond of during their journeys across Thedas. Blackwall, he was less worried about — Grey Wardens were built to endure, and the hair and meat on his bones was sure to hold off the cold for some time. Still, knowing all of their lives were in danger until they set foot back into Skyhold, and even after that depending on the severity of frostbite and hypothermia and—

  
“We sent a team of scouts out hours ago, and have yet to hear answer from them either,” Lelianna explained, knowing that Bull was the type who would rather know than be left in the dark. Her voice pulled him from his downward spiral of grim thoughts, though her words weren’t reassuring. Her usually aloof expression looked concerned and uneasy on the edges, a edge of pity in her eyes as she looked over the Bull.

  
“I could go and—” Bull muttered, feeling useless as he waited around for something to happen. He’d feel more at ease out there, the biting cold sinking into his skin, the wind howling in his ears, if that meant he had a chance at finding the others, at finding _Dorian_.

  
“We do not need yet another member of the Inner Circle lost in the storm,” Josephine said firmly, although there was a gentleness on her expression. She reached out and laid a warm hand on Bull’s arm. She looked especially stressed herself, eyes red and dark ringed. Bull wasn’t the only one suffering through worrying over someone close to his heart — the Inquisitor and the Ambassador has a blossoming relationship, yet she seemed to be staying more level headed. Sure, it was obvious that she’d cried at some point, but she wasn’t about to run head first into the snow to find a needle in a haystack. The mere thought of losing Dorian made all his logic and common-sense fly out the window, his heart thudding loudly in his chest, the now-familiar shiver running back down his spine.

  
Bull rubbed at his face, knowing he was letting his emotions get the best of him, “Yeah, I know.”

  
“I am about to return to my watch from the tower,” Cullen said, nodding in its direction, “You are welcome to join me, if it will ease your worries any.”

  
“Not sure anything will, but I’ll come along,” Bull grunted, following the Commander as he started across the hall.

  
Hurriedly, they crossed the courtyard again, taking a path that Cullen had cut through the snow earlier. A few inches had already built up in Cullen’s footsteps, meaning Cullen had been inside for a fair length of time, or the snow was coming down at a quicker pace than Bull had thought.

  
“It must be difficult, having to watch Dorian run off into danger time and time again,” Cullen muttered as he slipped through the door, stomping to shake off the snow that had gathered on his boots once inside. At seeing Bull’s hurt expression, Cullen winced at his words, realizing it wasn’t the time to point out how often Dorian was in danger.

  
“Yeah,” Bull agreed, pulling open the door to duck inside. He feared saying anything more would betray him. The world around him felt unsteady, worry making his knees weak and head spin. He frantically tried to remember if Dorian packed warmer robes than the ones he usually wore, imagining dark skin bare on one shoulder, and swallowed hard.  Dorian fighting bandits and Ventaori was one thing, knowing the man might get hurt during such battles, but also knowing that Dorian wielded powerful magics that could easily burn through armor and flesh and bone. Being at the mercy of a storm was different, making him feel completely helpless. There wasn’t anything to do but wait, wait for the storm to pass, wait for Dorian to stumbled through the gates to the fortress, or wait for the others to return without his _Kadan_. He couldn’t block a blow or tend to a wound, but could only swallow down his panic and _wait_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian & Sera get separated from the group.

Sera had sunk to hear knees after numerous trips and stumbles. Dorian felt her pull at his robes as she fell, and hurriedly spun towards her. He drew close, kneeling down before her. He had no idea how long they had been pressing on like this, and it was inevitable that one of them broke. The snow had long ago dampened their clothes, leaving them shivering. Dorian had given his extra cloak to Sera when he noticed how badly she was shaking, but that was soaked through now as well. He’d thought through this time, packed extra clothing for the cold descend and ascend from Skyhold, and was now thankful that he’d thought of that ahead of time.

  
“ _Fasta vass,_ you’ll freeze to death sitting in the snow,” Dorian scolded worriedly, trying to pull her upwards. Whenever he lifted her from the frozen ground, she only slumped in his grip, limbs weakly trembling and limp. He didn’t know if he had the strength to try again, and let her slip back into the snow.

  
“Tired,” she stated, eyes lidded and tongue thick. She seemed to care not for the snow in her hair, the fact that her hood had fallen down to bare her pale skin.

  
“I’m certain we’re almost there,” he assured her, thought his tone was uneven. There was no way of knowing if they were, and he greatly doubted that fact. Nothing was recognizable through the snow, and they were lucky that they hadn’t toppled to their deaths yet. He glanced towards Blackwall and the Inquisitor, who he realized were fading into the white around them. The mage and rogue had been trailing the others, the larger pair cutting a path through the snow.

  
When the storm first began, Dorian had washed a barrier around them all, keeping them safe from the worst of it. Then, they hadn’t realized how vicious the storm was going to become, or how long it would take to reach Skyhold. Holding up the barrier was quickly depleting his mana, casting the magic steadily giving him no time to recover. He had spent his lyrium potions on the journey, not having expected to need them on the road home. Before long, the glow flickered with each gust of wind, each bombardment of snow. They had stopped to try to make camp at one point, a panicked and desperate attempt that only left their fingers frozen and them without a single tent to speak of. The wind had grabbed at the fabric, ripping it from their grip, the white quickly swallowing it up. After that, he was only able to occasionally push warmth through the others, hoping it’d at least last them through the storm. He spared little warmth for himself, the last few pushes of heat from his fingertips being spent on Sera, who was showing the signs of wear the worst out of the four of them.

  
In vain, he tried to call out to the Herald and the Warden. He cried for them to stop, to wait for them, but the wind swallowed up the words. He felt like he was screaming into the void. As the others became gray shapes in the distance, he turned back to Sera.

  
“Can’t keep goin’,” she shook her head once. Everything felt numb and too-painful all at once, the wind rubbing her face raw, her toes icicles in her boots, her breath coming in small, painful gasps.

  
“Come on, you damned elf!” Dorian cried out, panic setting in. He felt tears prick at his eyes for a moment, but gritted his teeth and forced them away. When he leaned in to cup her face with magically warmed hands, he could see her lips were a worrying shade of blue. She looked grated, relieved for a moment as her own hands rose to press against Dorian’s.

  
“Come now, Sera. You can’t quit now,” he said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder, and couldn’t see the others through the storm, “We’ve got to stick together.”

  
“Gotta sleep,” she insisted, lids dropping and her head nodding, even as Dorian willed at the warmth he had left at his fingertips into her bones.

  
“ _Kaffas_!” he cried out as her eyes fell closed, worried she wouldn’t get a chance to open them again. He feared that none of them would make it through this damned snow — he knew, as soon as he fled south, that the cold would be the death of him. Tears threatened again, thought he knows they’ll only freeze to his eyelashes. He stoops down hurriedly, scooping Sera up into his arms with some difficulty. It isn’t that she’s heavy — she’s really fairly light and lean, defined muscles on her upper body obviously that of an archer — it’s just that he’s so tired himself. He’s carried comrades out of the battlefield before, surprisingly strong for a posh mage, but Sera’s weight feels immense now that he’s battling signs of hypothermia himself, as he tries to push through the snow.

  
Desperate, he continues to murmur warmth into Sera’s limbs. He occasionally calls out to Blackwall or the Inquisitor, expecting no answer and never receiving one. He’s not even sure what direction he’s moving in anymore, if he’s journeying closer to Skyhold or farther away. Everything seemed hopeless as he struggled onward, whispering warmth into their bones, feeling his mana deplete quickly from being tired and sore and, _Maker!,_ he just wants to rest.

  
Time, despite Dorian’s careful understanding of it and the precise magic needed to manipulate it, escaped him. Had he been trudging onward for hours, or had it merely been minutes? With every step, Sera felt heavier and heavier. His body sang with pain, the cold burning and stiffening his limbs. Weakly, he tried to call out to someone, anyone, knowing he couldn’t take this much longer. He prayed that someone was searching for him, imagined the Inquisitor realizing they were gone and turning around to look for them, imagined the Bull braving the storm and seeking Dorian out, materializing before him through the white. Then, he realized that if he gave up now, there would be no seeing Bull again, no warm reunion, no kisses pressed against his lips, no words of relief murmured between them. The thought of Bull waiting for him warms him, gives him the will to push on in hopes of seeing the other man again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to Skyhold

The Bull waited alongside Cullen, the storm showing no signs of slowing. Gust of wind carried snow into the tower. Occasionally, a strong gust would cause them to wince away from the window and wait for the torrent to die down again. Bull wasn’t sure they would even be able to see the returning party through the wall of white, but it didn’t stop him from peering out into the white expanse, searching for anything that indicated movement or life out there among the storm.

  
There was small talk as the hours dragged on, something to fill the awful silence that went with waiting. Sometimes, Bull thought that if he had to stay here for another moment, had to keep waiting for Dorian for another moment, he’d go crazy. The wind screamed in his ears, his thick skin was smarting from the unrelenting cold. He spared Cullen a glance, and saw that the Commander looked as weary as he felt. Guiltily, he remembered that Cullen was friends with these people, too. It was easy to get caught up in the pain, the presser around his heart at the fear of losing Dorian, and forget that he wasn’t the only one suffering right now. The man wasn’t a distant leader whose only concern was for his troops — he drank with the Inquisitor regularily, played chess with Dorian weekly, trained alongside Blackwall, and was the butt of Sera’s pranks on more then one occasion. A shaky hand swept a stray strand of hair from Cullen’s face, and Bull wondered how Cullen’s lyrium withdrawals were going, if this stress was putting him more on edge.

  
“You holding up alright?” Bull questioned without looking right at Cullen.

  
The Commander’s gaze snapped to him, floundering for a moment in confusion. He let out a dry laugh:

  
“Don’t concern yourself with my well-being. There’s more important—”

  
“They matter to you, too,” Bull continued, knowing Cullen was about to brush this off and claim that they shouldn’t be worrying about him when the others were lost, while those left at Skyhold were scared of what they could lose.

  
“Y-Yes, of course,” Cullen spluttered, still sound caught off-guard. His gaze dropped away from the Bull, towards the ground, “The Herald and Dorian are among my closest friends now. Blackwall and I have fought alongside on more than one occasion now. Sera’s a pest, but she’s so young and passionate… It’s always worrisome to be left here at Skyhold to do paperwork and twiddle my thumbs when I could be doing more.”

  
Bull snorted slightly, the sentiment sounding too-familiar now, “Wouldn’t want anyone else leading our armies.” Bull said it firmly, knowing how insecure Cullen could be, how much was resting on his shoulders and how hard he tried. He didn’t need Dorian to confide in him that Cullen had suggested Cassandra being to look for a replacement, just in case, to know that the Commander doubted himself. He believed what he said. The dedication and loyalty Cullen gave to the Inquisition was unrivaled.

  
“I… Thank you.”

  
More time crept by, everything growing darker as the sun set behind the clouds. Now, Bull was sure that spotting anything in the darkness was all-but impossible, and scrubbed at his face again.

  
“Look!” Cullen exclaimed, pointing. Bull started, his good eye having mediocre sight at best, and was barely able to make the fuzzy shapes beginning to cross the bridge.  
Relief flood his chest for a moment, worry giving away to hope. Almost immediately, his heart dropped back down into his stomach, counting only two figures struggling across the bridge. He felt guilty for hoping that one was Dorian, felt like he was somehow condemning the others, but he couldn’t help it. He needed it to be Dorian, needed Dorian to be safe in his arms with every ounce of his being, and wasn’t sure if he could handle the alternative.

  
“Let’s go,” Cullen said, turning on his heel to follow a scout who had arrived down to the gate.

  
Bull clamored after him, nearly slipping on the wet stairs. The guards were dragging the doors open as they arrived, Bull squinting through the swirl of white. As the fuzzy shapes approached, his breath caught for a moment. One of them just had to be Dorian. Then, he could tell, from the bulk of them both, that neither were him. A jolt of panic and loss ran through Bull, making his large hands tremble, his knees feel close to buckling, his heart beating too-loud in his ears for even the whirlwind around them to get through the noise. Cullen’s hands instinctively moved to Bull’s shoulder when he became aware that Dorian wasn’t there, either.

  
The Herald and Blackwall looked exhausted. Snow clung to every inch of them, knotted in their hair and settling heavy on parts of their gear, their skin blue in the few exposed patches. The Inquisitor stumbled, Blackwall making a weak attempt to grab them but falling with them instead. Cullen dashed forward to lift up the Inquisitor, start to guide them both towards the healers. Their eyes fell on Bull, who stood there, staring and silent, world crashing down around him.

  
“Iron Bull…” the Herald said weakly, voice a hoarse whisper, “They … aren’t here, are they?” They’d been hopeful that somehow, Dorian and Sera would make it through the storm, would be here waiting for them to arrive. It was foolish, they knew, but it was the one thing that kept them from hurrying back down the mountainside in search of their friends.

  
Bull shook his head, fists clenched at his sides. A wave of anger washed over him, the fact that they would leave behind somehow who had pledged themselves so unwaveringly to them and their cause creating a tight knot of rage in his stomach. He swallowed, trying to suppress it, trying to keep a bellow of hurt and anger down in his chest. He knew the thought was absurd, tried to shake of the feeling, and began to worry that he was finally going to lose control of himself.

  
“I… I’m sorry,” they stuttered out, guilt and hurt of their own clear in their tone.

  
“S’alright,” Bull said with no conviction, because nothing was alright. Cullen shot him a stern look, before his expression softened at seeing just how lost Bull looked. As Cullen half-carried, half-walked the Herald to the infirmary, Blackwall lingered for a moment.

  
“They tried to go back for them, to try to find them,” Blackwall explained, glancing away for a moment before he made eye contact with the Bull, “Finally got them to turn back in the direction we thought Skyhold was. We’re lucky we made it.”

  
Bull swallowed again, trying to keep the bile in the back of his throat from making an appearance. All he could manage was a weak nod, knowing that the Inquisitor should be the priority — no one else could fix the hole in the sky or defeat Corypheus. But, Dorian was his priority, and it was growing more and more difficult to keep his feelings from Dorian in check.

  
“He’s probably out there,melting down mountains to get back here,” Blackwall added, clapping Bull on the arm before a soldier insisted he attended to his injuries.

  
Bull stood there, watching as the men pushed the gate closed again to block out the worst of the storm. He remained there, body aching against the cold, snow gathering on his massive shoulders, and couldn’t convince himself to move.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian & Sera find a bit of safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, finished this chapter.  
> I have a flight today & I'll be in California for almost two weeks! But, I'll hopefully be writing on my long flights C:

Dorian nearly ran right into the cliff, the mass of rock invisible until he was a foot away. The sun had set at some point, further obscuring his vision, making it somehow _colder_ than it was before, and Dorian knew they had to get to some sort of shelter soon. He knew that much about surviving a storm.

  
For a long moment, all he could do was stare, having literally hit a _wall_. Everything seemed to bleary and distant, his thoughts sluggish and non-linear, and having his path so abruptly obstructed was hard to process at this point, honestly. He had obviously taken a wrong turn somewhere, and the fact that he was hopelessly loss began to feel absolutely crushing. He glanced down at Sera in his arms — he had frantically checked her pulse more than once, the elf looking dead as blue tinged her lips and stiffness took over her body. There was no way he could stop now. Stopping would surely mean Sera’s death, and he couldn’t live with that — even if his death was sure to follow promptly after. He tucked the cloak around her and slowly looked up again.

  
“I’ll get you home, Sera,” he whispered the promise to the wind, pushing himself to act.

  
Using the wall of rock as a guide, he began forward again. His mind worked slowly, piecing together that fact that finding a cliffside was not such a bad thing. There could easily be a recess in the rock, somewhere to retreat into and wait out the worst of this storm. He prayed that it would die down soon, and tried to remember how long the other snowstorms had lasted since winter arrived in Skyhold. It was futile, his thoughts of Skyhold all filled with the Bull, foggy memories of being warm and safe, and it was more discouraging than anything. He mumbled out a Tevene prayer, hoping that Bull would find him soon, but didn’t let his mind linger on being rescued for long. Instead, he channeled the flicker of warmth that the memory of Bull gave him into Sera’s body again, depleting what little mana he had left. It’d been an unending process, funneling warmth into Sera’s body until his mana _almost_ gave out, leaving him strung out and especially weak, with no other option than to push onward. He left a small remnant of mana within himself, knowing that draining himself completely would sap him of the weak strength he had left to struggle onward. There’d been enough times after battle when he’d used up all his reserve, leaving himself unable to move or function. He couldn’t do that now, couldn’t let Sera down. When his magic flickered back to life again — after minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure — he repeated the process. He couldn’t think of a time he’d gone without more than a hint mana for so long — the Red Templar’s spells only lasted so long, battles ended, stashes of lyrium were kept back on their camps. This, this seemed utterly endless. Bleak. Hopeless.

  
He began to measure time in how often he used his magic to warm them, to give him something to focus on instead of lingering on the hopelessness of their situation, of how impossibly far away Skyhold and Bull seemed right now. There was no other way to gauge the passage of time — counting how many footsteps he took made that hopelessness grip at his chest again when he got to five hundred, and he gave up on that. He used his magic three more time before he found a glimmer of hope, a recess in the cliff, a possible escape from the wind and snow. The hope made him surge forth, a frenzy gripping at him as he realized this might the last chance they had to survive this. Outside of the entrance, he stumbled and fell in the snow, panting and cursing as he struggled to push himself back to his feet without losing his grip on Sera. Still stumbling, he hurried into the cave, muttering prayers of thanks in every language he knew in hopes that _someone_ was listening.

  
The cave was small, snow sprayed across the ground, but it was _something_. He retreated to the farthest corner, carefully laying Sera out on the ground. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, his arms screaming with pain as he stretched and flexed them, body begging for rest as he pushed himself back up. He fumbled with the straps of his pack, fingers refusing to work, and dumped the contents on the cold ground. When he found his bedroll, he quickly laid it out and dragged Sera onto it. There was no way he could pick her back up right now, arms turning to limp noodles once free of their burden, and dragging her onto the bedroll a great enough strain. His other set of robes were bloodstained, but he draped them over the sleeping elf anyways, hoping it would do something to take more of the edge off the cold.

  
The wind still cut through the cave, jarring and awful each time. After a bit of debate on which was worse, the wind or the idea of facing the cold without an added layer of protection, a whimper from Sera in response to a gust of wind made the decision for him. He peeled his cloak from his shoulders, fastening it in place at the mouth of the cave with a few precise frost spells. Now, he shivered and rubbed at his arms, but keeping Sera safe from the wind seemed worth it.  
  
It was an effort to stay awake, to keep his chin from hitting his chest and his eyelids from pulling closed from the immense weight they carried. When he felt sleep pulling at him,  he dug his nails into the blisters on his exposed skin, the jolt of pain keeping him awake from that much longer. He was losing track of how many times he’d done that as he waited for his mana to return, to warm Sera’s bluish skin and assure her safety. Even in the protection of the cave, things didn’t look any more promising, the wind howling outside, snow creeping in through the gaps in his makeshift barrier to the outside, Sera’s breath shallow and weak. Finally, he felt that small spark of magic ignite in him again, and he laid his hands on Sera’s cheeks. He gently eased warmth through them, studying Sera closely as the blue of her lips faded back into fleshy pink, and her eyes moved lazily behind her eyelids.

  
“Dorian?” she rasped, eyes still unopened.

  
“Yes. I’ve got you,” Dorian nodded, brushing her jagged bangs from her eyes. He felt tears prick at his eyes and swallowed them down.

  
“Where we?” her eyes flicked open, squinting into the darkness around them, still looking weak and bleary.

  
“On our way home,” Dorian assured, though he didn’t feel the confidence he was trying to exude, “Almost home.”

  
Sera nodded slightly, “We’re up a shit creek, aren’t we?”

  
“A bit,” Dorian admitted with a shaky laugh, “I’ll get us out of this. Rest, Sera.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little worse again before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I had planned on this being maybe 2 or 3 chapters when I started it.

The wind outside was dying down, no longer whipping back their makeshift door or snuffing out any attempt at a flame that Dorian had conjured. Gathering the small bits of scrap wood that Blackwood had insisted they carried (Maker, thank you for the burly, mountain man), he was able to build a small fire for them to gather close to. Now that Sera wasn’t on the brink of death, the elf blearily blinking back in consciousness regularly, Dorian could let himself relax a little. She’d snuggled close to Dorian, laying her head on his thigh, and he idly stroked her damp hair. He tried to let himself rest, chin hitting his chest, the darkness of sleep pulling him down.

  
Every time Dorian closed his eyes, his mind turned to Bull. His dreams were of being in the man’s arms, huge and warm and safe. Nothing could touch him with Bull wrapped around him, and that made warmth flood his veins until he jerked back awake, realizing he was sitting on the cold ground, frozen to the bone. His mind began to trick him into seeing Bull’s shape behind the cloth across the mouth of the cave even in his waking hours. His heart quickened hopefully, the man’s name tumbling from his lips, his arms moving instinctively to reach out for him. He jolted slightly, the image fading away to swirling snow again, and he realized they were no closer to being found than they had been before. Sera was looking up at him, worry evident in on her face.

  
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and trying to swallow down a sob that was threatening to climb its way up.

  
“Don’t think either of us are fine,” Sera huffed. Dorian was grateful she was awake and he wasn’t left to muscle through the hollowness left in his chest alone in the dark. The small fire was dying down to embers, and he flicked his wrist at it to keep it from dying out, “Big Guy’s gotta be here soon.”

  
“Mm,” Dorian agreed, not entirely sure. He wasn’t even sure where they were, how would the Bull find them in the snow expanse around Skyhold. It had been too dangerous until hours ago to be wandering in the storm, though Dorian wasn’t sure that would stop the Bull, “Hopefully Blackwall and the Herald fared better than us.”

  
Sera blinked at him, panic and worry rising in her chest, “Stupid bloody snowstorm. Stupid Solas, choosin’ to have headquarters in the middle of the friggin’ _wilderness_. The Fade was probably especially dainty here or something.”

  
“It’s going to be alright,” Dorian said firmly this time, looking down at her wide eyes. He wasn’t sure if he felt like laughing or crying at this point, thinking how unkind fate had been to let the two most ill-equip survivalists be the ones lost in the passway to Skyhold. He patted her shoulder lightly, hoping it gave some sort of reassurance, “All that hair and bulk makes Blackwall a natural for this sort of thing. A wild man, if you will. The Herald survived an attack from Corypheus _and_ an avalanche before, this is child’s play.”

  
Dorian wasn’t entirely convinced by his own words. Even if the others were more equip, that didn’t mean they couldn’t slip up, couldn’t be bested by the weather. Sera, however, seemed to accept his answer and relaxed. 

\---

  
Bull had been given the clear to start the search once the storm died down. White stuff was still coming down steadily, but it was no longer as heavy, and was no longer coupled with howling wind. One of Leliana’s scouts and Dalish were with them, the pair of them experts in tracking. They would stop and confer on something, mutter and point in a direction. Bull wasn’t sure how they were doing it, all the dunes of snow making it impossible to make out landmarks, the still falling snow covering any tracks they might have left. Still, they seemed to be steering the group in a certain direction, a mountain in the distance beginning to grow closer and closer.

  
Bull grunted, “You sure this is the direction? Starting to look like a bit of a dead end. If we end up wasting time wandering around—”

  
“Have I ever lead you astray before, Chief?” Dalish said lightly, bounding ahead of the man. She barely left tracks, only the lightest of indents in the snow that were easily swept away by a breeze or covered in a second by the light snowfall.

  
Bull grunted again, admitting to himself that no, she hadn’t. No matter the weather or the terrain or the difficulty of the mission, Dalish always seemed to pull through in the end. He wondered distantly if it had anything to do with that bow of hers. Still, the idea of wasting time finding Dorian lingered. Even if the snow was slowing, it was still fuckin’ freezing out here. If they hadn’t found shelter, if they hadn’t found a way to stay warm— He hurriedly shook the thoughts away, knowing that working himself into a frenzy of worry wouldn’t help anyone right now.

  
Before long, the mountain was a towering cliff side before them. Not far off to his right, he saw where the ground they were on dropped off into a steep incline, and he furrowed his brow at the thought of Dorian and Sera toppling down that in their flight for safety. He swallowed hard, turning away, and looking back at the gray wall of stone.  
“We’re sure they’re this way,” the scout insisted, gesturing ahead. Bull squinted, cursing his shit eyesight again. All he could see was patches of gray rock and white snow, no sign of his ‘Vint or his friend, no promise of finding them soon. He sighed deeply, trudging onward after the others.

  
Then, after what Bull gauged to be another hour, there was a splash of color against the rock. It was undeniably the vivid red of one of Dorian’s cloaks, and Bull’s heart was in his mouth as he charged forward past the trackers. Worry built up for a moment, thinking of how desperately cold Dorian had to have been in the cave to use his clothing to shield the recess. He pulled away the fabric, freezing when he saw Dorian slumped against the ground, the ashes of a fire by his feet. Sera, trembling slightly and looking awfully pale, was leaning over the man. There were tears on her cheeks, but a flicker of relief showed through.

  
“Maker’s balls, Bull!” Sera shouted, voice shaking and catching, “The git fell asleep and I can’t get him to wake up. He won’t wake up, Bull.”

  
Dalish ducked hurriedly under the Bull’s arm braced in the entryway, hurried to kneel beside Dorian. She leaned down, putting an hear to his chest, a hand to his throat. Bull’s breath caught as he waited. He didn’t know what to do if he had lost Dorian, if he had been so close to finding the man only to have him stiff and cold and lifeless when he arrived. If only he had left a minute sooner, had left hours ago when the advisors ordered him not to—

  
“He’s alive,” Dalish confirmed, brow furrowed at how cold he felt. She patted his cheek lightly, and the man didn’t so much as twitch his mustache, “We gotta get him back to Skyhold now.”

  
Bull nodded, finally stumbling forward towards. He pulled his pack from his back, pulling out the blankets that Josephine had packed. He handed one to Sera, who clutched it around herself while not taking her eyes off Dorian. Carefully, Bull adjusted Dorian, wrapping him securely in the thick blanket. The man’s lip were slightly blue, mouth agape, and he’d never felt his skin so cold before. Bull clutched his ringed hand in his own, tried to rub warmth back into them.

  
“You gotta make it, Kadan,” Bull said hoarsely as he kissed his blistered and swollen fingertips before tucking his arms into the blanket.

  
“Drink this,” the scout ordered Sera, handing over a potion. It was part healing, part rejuvenating, and would help the elf make it to Skyhold before her strength gave out. Then, they carefully tucked a black stone between Dorian’s chest and the blanket. Bull looked at them questioningly, “Madame Vivenne insisted we take it. It keeps itself warm with magic., should help.”

  
Bull nodded before scooping Dorian up into his arms, standing with a groan of his leg brace and a pop of his knee. Dalish and the scout helped Sera to her feet, the woman still weak and wobbly.

  
“Need a ride?” Bull asked, shrugging his shoulders. Sera nodded, Dalish helping to boost her up onto the Bull’s back, and they set off for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HO. And here you thought Sera was the one we should be worried about.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy ending!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, it's finally finished! Thanks for sticking with me. :)

Dorian jerked awake, thoughts muddled, panic cutting through the fog. A shiver ran through his body, and he slowly remember the last day —  Had it only been a day? There was the cold. The snow. The little hole in the mountain he had found to hide away in. And, most importantly, _Sera_.

  
“Sera,” Dorian gasped out, throat feeling raw and rough. His vision was still swimming, expanses of muted white around him. He’d fallen asleep, curse him, and now the fire was out and they would surely freeze to death before anyone reached them. He dimly remembered using too much of his magic, realizing too late as he made the embers of the fire flare again, and it had all faded away, “ _Kaffas_!”

  
“Oi, Dorian,” Sera said sternly, her hands cupping his face as Dorian blinked rapidly, settling his vision. Sera’s  hands felt cool on his face, and the realization that he wasn’t that cold dawned on him. There was something lingering, a chill that had seeped into his bones. As he focused his sight, he realized that the plumes of snow he thought he had seen were the curtains of the infirmary drawn around them. Taking a shaking breath, he darted his eyes around the small space before returning his focus back to Sera. She stroked his hair, further flattening the sweaty dark locks, “Yer okay. We’re okay.”

  
“Sera?” Dorian asked, hand rising to grip her wrist tightly. She looked tired, her normally sharp eyes unfocused, dark rings around them, blond hair frizzier than normal. But, she was very much alive, and that did something to start to thaw the permafrost in Dorian’s bones. He let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh of relief and and whimper, eyes stinging.

  
Sera’s worried look started to grow into a relieved grin for a moment, but it faltered as she examined Dorian’s face. He was still pale, skin blanched in spots, still somewhat red and irritated where the worst of the frostbite had been. Her mind wandered back to when Dorian had faded from consciousness, poking at the fire with his magic and warming Sera’s hands in his own a moment before his word had slurred and he sagged against her shoulder. Nothing she did made him wake up, and she’d thought she’d lost him in that moment, “Fuck, Dorian, don’t you dare scare me like that again, you friggin’ ass!”

  
She snorted in through her nose, the noise sounding wet with unshed tears, before she threw her arms around Dorian’s neck. Still dazed, Dorian raised his hand to pat her back and run his fingers through her hair. He worked some snarls free, murmuring things to her as she sniffled into the crook of his neck, tears beginning to streak down his own cheeks. His chest was tight, feeling guilty for leaving Sera alone out there in the snow,  feeling relieved that somehow that had made it through that mess, feeling grateful to have Sera in his life.

  
When the curtain suddenly pulled back, a concerned-looking healer stood in the gap. Behind them, there was the noise of something clattering to the floor, before Bull gently shouldered his past the healer and into the tiny space. Then, Bull’s arms were around the both of them, his lips against Dorian’s temple and in his hair. There was an ache in Dorian’s limb, from the traveling and the cold, that Bull and Sera’s tight holds flared up. He ignored the throb, instead focusing on how warm and safe he felt in their embraces.

  
“Shit, Dorian,” Bull breathed against his cheek, trying to be careful with his bulk. It was difficult, when all he wanted to do was hold Dorian in his arms, know he was warm and safe. It’d been hard to believe he’d be fine, the healers and Stitches both reassuring that after some rest and healing, Dorian was sure to make a flawless recovery. The whole hike back to Skyhold, Dorian had been pale and limp and so cold in his arms, and Bull had felt so close to losing him. Now, he was warm under his fingertips and lips once more. He wiped away a few of Dorian’s stray tears, trailing his hand down to squeeze the back of Sera’s neck.

  
“Alright, get off you big lump, I dun wanna end up in the middle of yer tongue battles,” Sera groused, squirming slightly. Dorian laughed brightly as Bull pulled away to free the elf, who scooted back to sit across Dorian’s legs.

  
Both Iron Bull and Sera were still looking at Dorian with wonder, and Dorian swallowed thickly. He’d never imagined finding people who cared about him so much, and yet here he was, in Fereldan of all places, in the company of two of the people who had become his world. He sniffed again, raising a hand to his face, but Bull caught the stray tears before Dorian could.

  
“I must look like quite the sight right now,” Dorian muttered into his hand, trying to do something to right his frizzy mustache before deciding it was a lost cause. Sera gave him an exaggerated eye roll in answer.

  
“Sight for sore eyes, more like it,” Bull answered, leaning down to pepper Dorian’s cheeks with kisses again. Sera made a noise, but there was a soft smile on her face, “Dorian, I was so worried —”

  
Bull cut himself off, clearing his throat. Dorian looked up into his face, his lone gray eye looking wet, his brow creased. He reached up to stroke Bull’s cheek, a lone tear dripping onto his knuckles.

  
“Bull,” Dorian said softly, his voice thick with emotions again.

  
“I was just so worried, Dorian. But you’re back, you’re both back,” Bull concluded, scratching at the short sides of Dorian’s hair.

  
The healer lingering outside the curtain cleared their throat, looking apologetic, “Sorry to interrupt, but I must insist on checking over Ser Pavus now that he’s awake.”

  
Bull backed out of the way, giving the healer room to look Dorian over. Sera didn’t budge from her spot on his legs, peering curiously at Dorian as the healer checked for any signs of lingering fever or damage. They insisted he drink a glass of cider, warmed and sweet,  and a healing potion before they left again, insisting he was well enough, would be allowed to leave later in the day once they were sure he was fine.

  
“You’re feeling alright?” Bull asked as Dorian’s eyelids felt heavy.

  
“Mm,” Dorian nodded, before admitting, “Tired, and still a little cold.”

  
Bull smirked, “Think I could help with that.”

  
Iron Bull maneuvered Dorian forward, slipping behind him despite the bed groaning threatening. Sera, still perched on Dorian’s legs, was jostled in the movement and let out a noise of complaint, but still didn’t budge.

  
“I don’t know if the infirmary cots were cut out for holding the three of us,” Dorian grunted, but he let Bull settle him into his lap anyways. Bull draped his arms around Dorian, holding him close against his chest, grateful that the man was finally safe and back in his arms. With a content sigh, Dorian relaxed into Bull’s touch, safe and warm, drifting back to sleep as Sera chattered away and Bull chuckled quietly. He fell asleep slowly, a smile on his face and warmth in his chest.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, drop me a line here:  
> thekingofcarrotflower.tumblr.com/


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